The Billionaire's Past (His Submissive, Part Ten)

The Billionaire’s Past (His Submissive, Part
Ten)

Ava Claire

Copyright 2013 Ava Claire

SMASHWORDS EDITION

The His Submissive Series

The Billionaire’s Contract (Part One)

The Billionaire’s Touch (Part Two)

The Billionaire’s Passion (Part Three)

The Billionaire’s Heart (Part Four)

The Billionaire’s Girlfriend (Part Five)

The Billionaire’s Secret (Part Six)

The Billionaire’s Lust (Part Seven)

The Billionaire’s Promise (Part Eight)

The Billionaire’s Desire (Part Nine)

The Billionaire’s Past (Part Ten) **coming
June 21**

The Billionaire’s Trust (Part Eleven)
**coming July 26**

The Billionaire’s Forever (Part Twelve)
**coming August 23**

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Section One

We held our breath, side by side, our issues
forgotten as we watched Jacob for some sort of clue that Mia was
alright.

Naturally, he gave nothing away.

"I'm assuming if the girl was dead it would
be all over the place," Natasha murmured with a shrug.

For someone that walked around like they knew
everything, Natasha clearly didn't know squat about being
human.

She mouthed a ‘what?’ to Missy and rolled her
marble blue eyes at me as I let out a scoff of disgust and turned
back to Jacob. I didn’t have the time or patience to get into it
with her again. Not when it was getting harder and harder to
breathe, waiting for information about Mia.

Overdose.

That word brought back a chilling memory.
Freshman year--everyone buzzing with their first taste of
adulthood. Life without parents. The dizzying power of
responsibility. Staying up as late as you want. No one forcing
homework and sports down your throat. No wonder so many people
packed on the Freshman 15 or in my case, 30, when you could have
pizza for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

Still, I’d be lying if I said sometimes I
didn’t wake up and forget. Ache for home. Expect to hear the low
drone of Mom watching some terrible soap opera or the mechanical
buzz of Dad at work in the shed. But my first college roommate was
ten times worse. She'd cry herself to sleep, always on the phone
with her parents, texting the boyfriend that she left back
home.

I tried to involve her in things, inviting
her to the cafeteria, offering to walk with her to class, but she
turned me down. I knew she had to be lonely. She was miserable when
she couldn't reach them and only smiled when she spoke to them.

And then something changed.

She started opening up to me. Telling me
about her past and what she wanted for her future. She even started
coming down to the dining hall instead of eating in the room
alone.

All her progress halted when her boyfriend
broke up with her. She stopped going to class altogether. She
stopped using words, communicating through grunts and eye rolls.
She didn’t even leave her bed, curled up in her comforter like the
world outside was just too painful.

It was horrible of me, but I kind of thought
she was just being ridiculous. That she needed to grow up instead
of dealing with a rough breakup in the worst possible way. I had no
idea there was something much darker going on.

About a week later, I came back from my
morning classes and realized she hadn’t moved in hours. Usually
she'd shift to a different side of the bed or her body would curl
in a different version of the fetal position. When I saw that all
of the pill bottles in the bathroom were empty, I freaked out.

I could still remember dashing to my desk to
call 911. The way the girls lined the halls, whispering as the
medics wheeled my roommate out on a stretcher, trying to
resuscitate her. Apparently if I hadn’t called when I did, she
would have died.

She moved back home and I never heard from
her again.

Did I miss something this time too? So caught
up in being vindicated that Missy’s approach was too brutal that I
missed how far gone Mia really was? Should I have gone after her
instead of trying to figure out a way to convince Jacob that I
deserved to be heard on her case? Because now there was only
silence, a deafening, hollow quiet--and a worry that I could have
done more.

That I could have saved her.

Jacob lowered his phone, his face unreadable
as he ran a hand through his dark locks, waves swishing back in
place. We were all antsy, waiting with bated breath. When his eyes
settled on me, the knots that ground in my belly slackened.

“She’s still alive,” I said softly, relief
crashing into me.

Missy moved forward, her dark ponytail
slashing the air. She needed to hear it for herself. "Mia Kent's
alive?"

"Yes," Jacob confirmed with a crisp nod.
"She's at Mercy General. They pumped her stomach and she's under
suicide watch."

"We have to--" I looked to my left and saw
Missy and I had both taken a step forward. We both had spoken the
same words and had the same urgency in our voices.

I was pretty sure I'd lost a good chunk of
respect for Missy after she tore down a girl that was a walking cry
for help during and after the meeting, but the remorse that
blanched her features pooled together the scraps that were
left.

I turned back to Jacob. "We should go talk to
her. Let her know that she's not alone. And the press..." Locusts
were more accurate. Snapshots of Mia's washed out, unconscious face
were proof that the friend who called 911 made another call
first.

"Of course." Jacob moved to where I stood,
forgetting that we weren't the only two people in the room. I
relaxed in his arms, breathing in the warmth. The safety. I knew
what he was gonna say before he even said it.

"I've already arranged a car. If you want me
to accompany you, I'm there."

I pulled back a little, hands against his
chest as I looked up into his eyes. I knew he had a million other
things to do, that he was going above and beyond. He was willing to
draw those flashing lights on us, to sit beside me in the waiting
room until we were allowed to see her. All because he loved me.

As much as I could use him by my side, I
needed to do this. Missy and I had to make this right.

I brought a hand up, fingertips brushing the
striking line of his jaw. “That’s alright. We’ve got this.”

I gave Missy a curt nod and we moved to the
door. My eyebrow shot upward when I heard the tap of Natasha’s
heels behind us. Five seconds ago she was talking so flippantly
about the overdose, shrugging it off no less.
Now
she cared?
Now
she had a heart?

My glare nailed her in place and her cheeks
reddened before she threw a glare back at me. “Mr. Whitmore was
sending me home early anyway.”

“Then go home,” Jacob said sternly, his tone
leaving no room for debate. “I’m sure they’re more than able to
handle the situation without your assistance.”

She pursed her lips defiantly, but eked out
a, "Yes sir" and brushed past us, feathers visibly ruffled. I was
expecting some nonverbal show of solidarity from Missy, but she
seemed just as relieved to be free of her as I was.

We moved to the elevator and I cleared my
throat as I punched the button for the ground floor. I dropped my
hands to my side, trying to prepare for whatever excuse she was
bound to whip out to explain how she had nothing to do with any of
this. How it wasn't her fault that Mia clearly had issues. She was
just doing her job, after all--and passing the buck so her hands
were clean and washed of any guilt. But Missy didn't say a
word.

I looked over at her. Her expression was pure
anguish and her skin was several shades paler than normal, eyes
glittering with...tears?

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at that and
whip back to the front. I punched the elevator button repeatedly,
trying to make the thing move faster. Any other day it would be
like one of those rides at the fair that plummets down and your
heart lurches to your feet. When I was stuck in a confined space
with some woman pulling out all her acting chops to play the
victim, it chose to take its precious time.

The doors finally slid open and I stepped
out, drawing a breath as I blasted through the lobby. I didn’t have
time to deal with Missy. If she was waiting for me to ask if she
was okay when our client had just attempted suicide, she would be
waiting a
very
long time.

The car was waiting at the curb, the driver
immediately moving to open the back door. Missy was hot on my
heels, sliding into the seat beside me, snapping her seat belt,
then facing the window. Like she couldn’t stand the sight of
me.

I crossed my arms, more offended than I
liked. She was a piece of work. Maybe I should have let Jacob come
because right about now he’d be giving me a look that said ‘leave
it alone’. But it was just me and an anger that said she was
throwing some sort of temper tantrum and wanted attention. She
wanted attention? I’d give her attention.

“You’re worried about Mia, huh?” I said,
dripping with sarcasm.

She sniffled and wiped away a crocodile tear.
“Of course I am.”

Of course she is?
The car merged into
traffic and I gripped the seat cushion, trying to mince my words,
but they were ringing in my ears. She was worried about her? Maybe
if she wasn’t so busy trying to show everyone how badass she was we
could have seen that Mia needed someone to talk to, not someone to
berate and belittle a girl that thought her life was worth next to
nothing.

“I find that really interesting, Missy.”

She turned to face me, her eyes flashing
brown, then nearly black with rage. “Excuse me?”

“I’m over this belated show of concern,” I
said, not backing down. “During the meeting I tried to help her.
After the meeting I told you I thought she needed a gentler
approach. And when I saw her in the bathroom I tried to talk to you
again and--”

“What do you want me to say, Leila?” she
roared. “That I’m a horrible sister?”

The car went silent, the driver’s eyes were
forward even though I could tell from the rigid set of his back
that he was wondering what he’d gotten himself into--and trying to
get out of the thick of this drama ASAP. I was quiet because of her
last sentence.

Because she was a horrible sister?

I inched back, not sure what button I pushed,
but feeling nervous because once again I was in a confined space
with someone I didn’t trust further than I could throw her.

“Horrible sister?” I said finally, ending the
silence. “What are you talking about, Missy?”

“I misspoke,” she said dismissively, giving
me a look so acidic it could eat through flesh.

“Okay.”

Satisfied that I was dropping it, she turned
away. I did the same, wishing that it was that easy. That I could
just flip a button and turn that annoying, empathetic part of me
off. It was far too late for that anyway because I was already
recalling the first real conversation we had.

She talked about a younger sister who was a
fan of Mia’s back in her
Carolina, California
heyday. That
was the first time I saw her show any real emotion besides extreme
dislike. The first time I thought maybe she wasn’t pure evil after
all.

I fiddled with a corkscrew curl, debating
whether I ask the question. I was wasting time because I already
knew I was gonna do it. I wasn’t a hard ass. I cared about people
that didn’t deserve it. My mother said it made me good, honest, but
right now I just wanted to shut it off and save my concern for Mia.
When Missy sniffled and tried to cover it by clearing her throat, I
gave in.

“Did something happen with your sister?”

She went rigid, her voice low and unsure.
“Why do you care?”

“Because if something is bothering you that
impacts your ability to do what’s in our client’s best interest, we
need to take care of it. Mia needs us, Missy. What happened with
your sister?"

Missy flipped her hair over her shoulder,
clearly irritated. “I just misspoke, Leila. They really don’t have
too much in common. Both are eighteen. Both are from privileged
families.” She paused, her jaw twitching. “Both have been in
rehab.”

I opened my mouth and slowly closed it. I
didn’t know what to say.

Missy fiddled with the hem of her blazer. “I
swear things weren’t so complicated when I was a teenager. There
were still boys and hormones and alcohol and drugs. I made it out
alright.” She flung a hand in my direction. “You made it out
alright. Plenty of people go through it and manage just fine. And
my sister was dealt a better hand than most. I just couldn't
understand why she turned sixteen and all hell broke loose. So when
my mother called me and said I was her big sister and Ana looked up
to me, that’s exactly what I said to her. Get over it or she’d end
up ruining her life or worse. Straight, no BS.” Her voice went
ragged, the edges cutting at my attempt to not care, making it
impossible.